The Tiny Peeta Diaries
by aimmyarrowshigh
Summary: A series of events around District Twelve as seen through the eyes of five-year-old Peeta Mellark, the earnest and inquisitive son of the baker. A side-shot for The Five Places Cinna Came From, but you do not need to read that to understand this.
1. 001 Nighttime

**Author**: **aimmyarrowshigh**  
><strong>Illustrator<strong>:** everybodysbadintentions**  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: _The Hunger Games_, Suzanne Collins  
><strong>Story Title<strong>: "The Tiny Peeta Diaries; Or, Five Times Peeta Made People Say 'Dammit'!"  
><strong>Summary<strong>: _A series of events around District Twelve as seen through the eyes of five-year-old Peeta Mellark, the earnest and inquisitive son of the baker._  
><strong>Notes<strong>: A side-shot for _The Five Places Cinna Came From: District Twelve (The Girl with the Boy)_, but you do not NECESSARILY need to have read that to understand this. Although there is more bbPeeta being bb in it.  
><strong>CharacterRelationships**: Peeta, some mentions of Cinna/OC and Mr. Mellark/Mrs. Everdeen.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG (for the word "dammit," obviously.)  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: None, really. I guess see the "rating," lol.  
><strong>Wordcount<strong>: 1,500/7,000  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own anything. All characters, settings, and proprietary language are owned by the author of the work from which this is derived. This is Part 1/5; we're AIMING to get one Part posted every night for the next five days.

* * *

><p><strong>! THIS IS ACTUALLY NOT THE COMPLETE VERSION OF THE TINY PEETA DIARIES! READ THE FULL, ILLUSTRATED VERSION AT http{colon} {slash (slash)} aimmyarrowshigh [dot] livejournal <strong><span>[dot]<span>** com {slash} 72230 **[dot]** html !**

* * *

><p><strong><span>The Tiny Peeta Diaries; Or, Five Times Peeta Made People Say 'Dammit'!<span>**

**001. Nighttime**  
>Peeta Mellark, freshly five years old, lay wide-awake in bed, shaking his knees and too excited to sleep. He had stayed awake to hear the big clock at the Justice Building chime midnight – it was his birthday today! – but <em>now<em>he was awake because of the looming knowledge of the treats waiting downstairs.

It was jam day at the Mellark Bakery, and Peeta wanted nothing more than rhubarb on rye.

Or maybe – maybe strawberry on wheat.

No! Maybe what he _really_ wanted was grooseberry on three-grain. Grooseberry _and_strawberry!

Peeta flopped over onto his belly and buried his face under his pillow, wishing it were morning. Across the bed, Lavash snored hugely. Peeta flopped over again and looked across the room to Barm's bed. He was sound asleep, too.

Peeta slowly, slowly slipped out of bed, his feet thumping on the creaky wooden floor. He tiptoed across the cramped bedroom and opened the door as quietly as he could. He peeped his head out of the room and looked up the hall to his parents' bedroom. Door shut.

Everyone was asleep.

He left the bedroom door open a crack just in case he needed a quick escape back into bed, and started down the hall. When he got to the heavy door to the bakery staircase, he checked over his shoulder again. Silence.

Except for Lavash's snoring down the hall.

He'd never tried to unlock the big deadbolts before, but he had seen it done a hundred times. He boosted himself up on the floor molding to reach and pulled at the lock until –

_Click!_

He pulled at the heavy door and bump bump bumped down the stairs on his rump so they didn't creak.

And then he was in the Mellark Bakery kitchen, all alone with the big flour bags and long nighttime shadows.

And the prize.

_Fresh jam._ Dozens of brightly colored jars of liquid sugar gold reflected the light from the Peacekeepers' streetlamps outside. They beckoned Peeta closer with the promises of deliciousness and joy and _he couldn't wait anymore!_He ran across the kitchen and dragged his little blue stepstool over to the array of jams and jellies in their tricky glass Ball jars. His eyes were wide as serving platters as he surveyed his options. Rhubarb, glowing pink and opaque; orange with bits of zest and bitter skin – he shouldn't touch that one, they could only buy oranges once each year; sweet-sour green grooseberry from the garden outside, where Peeta and Barm sat peeling the berries from their papery skins all afternoon; bright, ruby-red, freckled strawberry.

_Bingo._

Peeta grabbed the first jar of strawberry jam and rummaged through the drawers for a butter knife. He fumbled with the jar until it opened with a _pop!_.

He stuck his eager hand into the jam, pulled out a slippery, quivering mess of strawberry pieces, and stuffed it in his mouth. Before he'd even begun to chew, he opened a jar of grooseberry and mashed some shimmering green jelly into his mouth, too.

_Bread._He needed bread.

Peeta clambered down from his stepstool and looked across the kitchen towards the breadbox. He knew his way around the kitchen and he knew it was just his own bakery, but it looked different in the dark and everything seemed so far away. He trailed his hand along the side of the counter as he made his way across the busy room, and pulled himself up on the countertop so he could riffle through the treasurebox of stale bread.

Once he'd squeezed every loaf and decided that the challah braid seemed the softest, he looked down at the floor from his perch.

That was a mistake.

He'd never realized the counters were so high when he didn't have Barm around to lift him back down safely. Peeta sucked some jam off his arm pensively as he considered the risk of breaking his head.

Just then, there was a noise – a scraping at the front door.

Robbers!

Peacekeepers!

_Mutts!_

Peeta skittered his legs up onto the counter – since he clearly would never be able to get down ever _again_, at least until Barm woke up – and he tumbled into the breadbox to hide as the front door to the bakery shushed open.

A broad form towered in the doorway, framed by the streetlight. Peeta peeked out from between his jammy fingers and tucked himself into a little ball between the week-old pumpernickel and a Pullman loaf so old and stale that Peeta thought maybe he could use it as a shield if he needed. The front door closed with an ominous thunk.

The robberpeacekeepermutt looked around the kitchen and Peeta buried his face in his knees. There was a spot on jam on his pants-leg and he chewed at it nervously as the beast lumbered across the kitchen in the dark, big hamhock-hands reaching blindly for the counter to feel his way towards the little boy hiding in the breadbox…

The lights flickered on in the kitchen and Peeta blinked, covering his eyes so his father wouldn't see him.

Or the mess he'd made.

Farll seemed preoccupied at the moment, smiling quietly down at a few tiny yellow flower blossoms, open wide even though it was night. He set the flowers down on the counter absently and then frowned as his hand came away covered in green jelly.

"Dammit," muttered Farll Mellark, "Why is this sticky? What's – " There was a pause as he inspected the smudge on his palm. "Jam?" He sighed. "Peeta, where are you?"

Peeta stayed hidden behind his hands. "I'm stuck."

Farll crouched down and looked under the table. "Where are you?"

Peeta sighed and rustled around so he could peek out at his dad. "I'm in the breadbox."

Farll covered his mouth with his hands so his boom of laughter wouldn't roll up the stairs and down to hall to wake his wife. "How did you get in there?"

"I thought you were a monster coming," Peeta explained sheepishly. "I hid."

"You thought I was a monster?" Farll's eyes were crinkled at the corners as he plucked Peeta out of the breadbox and set him down in a clean spot on the countertop. "Why aren't you sleeping, Peeta?"

"It's my birthday," Peeta explained, looking at his toes and wondering just how he'd gotten jam on his foot. He pulled it up to his face and examined it. "And jam day."

Farll ruffled Peeta's sticky blond curls. "Happy birthday, bub."

He retrieved Peeta's challah from where it had fallen and cut two thick slices, and slathered them both with a swirl of strawberry jam and grooseberry jelly. He handed one to Peeta and Peeta shoved a remarkable amount of it into one bite.

He grinned messily up at his father and watched him close the jamjars.

"Why 'oo 'oo 'have coe duss on're hannz?" he asked curiously around the jam.

"What?" Farll asked, his cheeks flushing below his thick blond beard as he put the opened jars into the chillbox.

Peeta swallowed laboriously. "Why do you have coal dust on your hands?"

Farll looked at the rings of black dust embedded under his fingernails and said _dammit_again softly under his breath. "I went for a walk," he explained. "I guess I ended up in the Seam."

"You goed to the Seam?" Peeta asked curiously, taking another big bite of bread. "At night?"

"Went," corrected Farll, taking a seat on the counter beside his son. "I _went_to the Seam."

"Why?" Peeta licked some stray jam from his foot.

"Oh, Peeta, that's gross," Farll admonished. "Here." He handed Peeta another half a slice of bread and jelly. "And that's all, you're going to get sick if you eat more."

"Thanks," Peeta said, muffled by toast. "Why did you went to the Seam?"

Farll looked out the window as though the answer lay outside the Bakery walls. "I had a delivery to make."

"Why didn't Lavash make it in the morning? And what are your flowers for?"

Farll's eyes shone. "Primrose." He cleared his throat. "They're primroses. I thought maybe you and Barm could try to make some from fondant tomorrow before they close for the afternoon." Farll Mellark looked down at his wide-eyed, jam-covered son. He patted Peeta's blond head again and pulled a chunk of strawberry free from his cowlick. "I went tonight because it's your birthday in the morning. And I wanted to do it myself now so that tomorrow, we could all spend the day together. As a family."

Peeta smiled. "That's nice." He yawned hugely.

Farll smiled back and looked out at the wreck that had been his kitchen only a few hours before. "Peeta," he sighed. "You are a mess-making machine."

There was no answer. Farll looked down at where Peeta had slumped over, the challah loaf as his pillow, sound asleep in a sugar coma. He sighed, and set to work cleaning the coal dust from beneath his fingernails and the jam from the counters to hide the night's transgressions from his wife come morning.


	2. 002 Summertime

**Author**: **aimmyarrowshigh**  
><strong>Illustrator<strong>:** everybodysbadintentions**  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: _The Hunger Games_, Suzanne Collins  
><strong>Story Title<strong>: "The Tiny Peeta Diaries; Or, Five Times Peeta Made People Say 'Dammit'!"  
><strong>Summary<strong>: _A series of events around District Twelve as seen through the eyes of five-year-old Peeta Mellark, the earnest and inquisitive son of the baker._  
><strong>Notes<strong>: A side-shot for _The Five Places Cinna Came From: District Twelve (The Girl with the Boy)_, but you do not NECESSARILY need to have read that to understand this. Although there is more bbPeeta being bb in it.  
><strong>CharacterRelationships**: Peeta, Cinna/OC.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG (for the word "dammit," obviously.)  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: None, really. I guess see the "rating," lol.  
><strong>Wordcount<strong>: 1,500/7,000  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own anything. All characters, settings, and proprietary language are owned by the author of the work from which this is derived. This is Part 1/5; we're AIMING to get one Part posted every night for the next five days.

* * *

><p><strong>! THIS IS ACTUALLY NOT THE COMPLETE VERSION OF THE TINY PEETA DIARIES! READ THE FULL, ILLUSTRATED VERSION AT http{colon} {slash (slash)} aimmyarrowshigh [dot] livejournal <strong><span>[dot]<span>** com {slash} 72907 **[dot]** html !**

* * *

><p><strong><span>The Tiny Peeta Diaries; Or, Five Times Peeta Made People Say 'Dammit'!<span>**

**002. Summertime**  
>Peeta slipped out of the bakery in his sock-feet so Mahra wouldn't hear. He remembered at the last second to catch the knob before the loose hinges swung shut with a bang, and he slowly, slowly shut the door. He had never been outside alone after sunset before; the air smelled different than it did during the day, fresher and wetter and sweeter. He sat down on the stoop, still warm with midsummer sunshine, and pulled off his little white socks. He wriggled his toes in the grass and stuffed his socks in his pockets.<p>

He stood up and looked around, digging his toes into the cool dirt. The Merchant Quarters looked different at nightfall, too – the shadows were sharper and the windows seemed larger and blacker, frightening like big mutt eyes, the kind he'd seen in last year's Games before Barm came in and switched off the screen. The buildings looked bigger. Everything was quiet.

It was a little scary, being out here all alone.

But Peeta knew that it was just the Merchant Quarters. There was nothing dangerous here. No mutts. No one who would hurt him. He knew everyone and he knew how to get home: the white letters on the B A K E R Y were easy to see and they were the only shop with yellow curtains in the windows.

Peeta tentatively stepped out into the yard. He glanced back at the door.

Then he took another step. Three steps away from the stoop, he was _free_. He giggled and ran to the edge of the yard. There was a big, ugly bug on the dusty road, so he crouched down to poke at it. It curled up in a tight little ball when he touched its back, so he prodded at it for a long time as the night air grew softer and cooler around him, the breeze wrapping around his arms and ruffling his hair lightly.

When Peeta tired of the pillbug, he looked around at the square. Without anyone else around to play with, adventuring might not be as exciting as he'd thought.

Peeta frowned. He looked back down for the pillbug, but it had rolled away. Maybe he could go to the Seam and get those flowers his dad wanted to use for cookies. The primroses.

Something flickered beside Peeta's eye and he flinched, expecting his mother – but there was nothing there. He turned and looked as it flickered again, zooming around his head.

"_Stars_," Peeta whispered, scrambling to his feet as he noticed dozens of them, zooming and flickering all around the Quarter. His bare feet padded against the concrete and dust as he followed them, staring up in amazement. He wandered off the main sidewalk, grass and pebbles underfoot as he set off on an unknown path, following the falling stars.

"Oh! O-oh, _dammit_, there's someone – wait… Peeta?"

Peeta jumped and looked around. He was standing in the alley behind the tailor shop, light streaming out of the upstairs loft windows. Cinder and Magdalen looked at him in surprise from where they pressed up against the shop's brick wall, their cheeks very pink and their hair very ruffled. They were hugging. _Again_.

"Hi, Magdalen!" Peeta chirped. "Hi, Cinna!"

He bent to dislodge a pebble from between his toes.

"What are you doing out here, Peeta?" Cinder asked, scrubbing a hand through his hair to tame it. He stepped away from the shop's wall and adjusted his belt. "It's very late for you."

"I'm on a aventure," Peeta informed him. "What are you doing out here?"

Magdalen smoothed down her skirt and knelt down by Peeta. She frowned as she examined the walloping shiner that had bloomed around his eye. "How did you get out of your house?"

"I sneaked," Peeta said, shrugging. "The stars are falling all over the place; look." He pointed. One flickered and blinked past Magdalen's ear. "It's very pretty, but I think the world is ending."

Magdalen laughed and reached out, quickly catching a falling star in her cupped hands. "They're not stars, Peeta, they're lightning bugs. Look," she opened her hands enough for Peeta to peep through her fingers at the glowing insect.

"Ooh," Peeta breathed, poking a finger through hers. "I wanna touch it."

"Do you want to catch some?" she asked, smiling sweetly at him. Peeta's heart ka-thunked in his little chest; Magdalen was so pretty with her big gray Seam eyes and long black braid. He hoped that maybe if Magdalen didn't marry Cinna, she would wait until he got big and would marry him.

"What do you do with them once you catched them?" Peeta asked.

Magdalen shrugged. "Watch them shine."

Peeta considered this. He scooted up close to Magdalen and propped his chin on her brown shoulder. "Will you caught them with me?"

She patted his hair. "Of course!"

"Okay!" Peeta said, scrambling to his feet. "What do we caught them in?"

"Hmmm…" Magdalen hummed. She turned and grinned up at Cinder, who still leaned against the tailor shop wall, looking amused. "Do you have a jamjar or anything, by chance, Cinna?"

"Jam?" Peeta asked pertly. "They like jam?"

"No," said Magdalen. "It's just best to catch them in a clear jar so you can see the lights."

"Oh," Peeta said, deflating a little. "I really like jam." Then he brightened. "But I also like stars! And I like you." He smiled winningly at Magdalen, who mussed his hair.

"Hey, catch!" Cinder called from the tailor shop door, tossing an empty jar underhand to Magdalen. She handed it to Peeta.

"How do I caught them?" Peeta asked, bouncing on his toes.

"You just do," Magdalen laughed, shrugging. "Just try. I've heard you can be pretty resourceful when you want something."

Peeta scowled. "I was only in the breadbox for a little while."

Magdalen snorted. "Go catch your lightning bugs." She turned and reached out, beckoning Cinder. "Come out here and sit with us, Cinna."

Cinder smiled sleepily and sat down beside Magdalen in the dusty alley, stretching his long legs out in front of him. The breeze rustled through the trees with a soft whisper, and the light from the Peacekeepers' streetlamps buzzed quietly out in the Quarter. Magdalen scootched over and settled in his lap. Cinna wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder as Peeta jumped around with his empty jar, trying to catch fireflies.

"I can't do it," Peeta panted finally, flopping down onto the ground. "They're too faster than me."

"Aw," cooed Magdalen, pushing herself up. "Let's see if we have more luck together, okay?"

She showed Peeta how to scoop the jar around them.

"See?" she asked, holding the jar down to his eye-level.

"The light is in its butt!" Peeta cried, falling over in glee.

He laughed and laughed and rolled around in the dust. Then he jumped up and reached out his hands. "I wanna try again."

Magdalen gave him the jar and he jumped around again, trying to catch them and wriggle his rump at the same time. Magdalen snorted, trying not to laugh, but eventually she and Peeta both laughed until he'd fallen down again.

Once he'd caught three fireflies on his own, Cinder stood up and lifted Peeta high in the air, swooping him around as Peeta shrieked and tried to fill the jar.

When his jar was teeming with flickering bugs, Cinna poked holes in the lid with a heavy darning needle and Magdalen screwed it shut.

"Now you can watch them," she said. "But make sure you let them go in the morning so they don't die."

Peeta beamed at his collection of magical fallen stars. Then he frowned.

"Oh no!" He looked distraught. "I can't bring this home; my mother will know I sneaked out."

Cinder and Magdalen exchanged a look. "Well, why don't you look for a while here, and then we can let them go together and we'll walk you home," Cinna suggested. "It's very late out anyway."

Peeta nodded, still sad, and settled down on the ground. He set his jar down carefully and lay on his belly to watch the lights sparkle. He tried not to blink as they zoomed in curlicues and arcs and buzzed their lights on and off, but somehow, when he did blink, he opened his eyes to find that Magdalen was carrying him up the street to the B A K E R Y.

"My stars," he murmured into her neck, smudging his itchy nose on her shoulder.

"We'll catch more," she promised him soothingly, rubbing his back. "Go back to sleep."

"How'm'I gonna get in my bed?" Peeta asked, clutching her braid like a teddy bear. "'M gonna run into the doors. In the dark."

"No, no, no. Cinna went ahead to get Barm to come downstairs and get you," Magdalen said. "No one's going to hurt you, sweetheart. Don't worry, Peeta. Me and Barm and Cinna? We won't let _anyone_hurt you."

"M'kay," Peeta mumbled, his eyes closing again. He nestled close to her braid, hiding the bruise on his face.

It was easy to believe that he would never get hurt again on a night when he had gotten to be free and catch falling stars.


	3. 003 Family Time

**Author**: **aimmyarrowshigh**  
><strong>Illustrator<strong>:** everybodysbadintentions**  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: _The Hunger Games_, Suzanne Collins  
><strong>Story Title<strong>: "The Tiny Peeta Diaries; Or, Five Times Peeta Made People Say 'Dammit'!"  
><strong>Summary<strong>: _A series of events around District Twelve as seen through the eyes of five-year-old Peeta Mellark, the earnest and inquisitive son of the baker._  
><strong>Notes<strong>: A side-shot for _The Five Places Cinna Came From: District Twelve (The Girl with the Boy)_, but you do not NECESSARILY need to have read that to understand this. Although there is more bbPeeta being bb in it.  
><strong>CharacterRelationships**: Peeta, Cinna/OC.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG (for the word "dammit," obviously.)  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: None, really. I guess see the "rating," lol.  
><strong>Wordcount<strong>: 1,500/7,000  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own anything. All characters, settings, and proprietary language are owned by the author of the work from which this is derived. This is Part 1/5; we're AIMING to get one Part posted every night for the next five days.

* * *

><p><strong>! THIS IS ACTUALLY NOT THE COMPLETE VERSION OF THE TINY PEETA DIARIES! READ THE FULL, ILLUSTRATED VERSION AT http{colon} {slash (slash)} aimmyarrowshigh [dot] livejournal <strong><span>[dot]<span>** com {slash} 73247 **[dot]** html !**

* * *

><p><strong><span>The Tiny Peeta Diaries; Or, Five Times Peeta Made People Say 'Dammit'!<span>**

**003. Family Time**  
>Peeta Mellark stared unhappily at his feet.<p>

He never had before. He'd never had a reason. They were feet; they hung out at the ends of his legs and made him walk.

Simple.

But until today, he'd had equally simple little slippy shoes with buckles, which he liked very much. They made a good clacking noise when he galloped down the sidewalk back to the bakery from the delivery route, and he could put them on either foot and they made sense.

But his mother said he was too big for buckle shoes if he was big enough to go to school, so Barm had dragged him (a bit literally) to the Cartwrights' shoe shop and he'd been fitted for his own pair of heavy brown work shoes.

With _laces_.

Peeta did not trust the laces.

He had watched Mr. Cartwright show him how to tie them, but then when he tried, he got all tangled up and his shoe got trapped on his foot and he hurt his fingers and he was stuck.

Peeta scowled and tried to pull off his new shoes, but tumbled backwards instead and lay on the stoop. He gave up. He would lie here, helplessly trapped in his new shoes until he died.

The Bakery door creaked open above him and Barm's scruffy face peered out.

"Well, don't step on me," Peeta warbled. "I'm down here. I'm dying."

"You're dying?" Barm asked, coming outside and hunkering down beside Peeta on the stoop. The breeze felt nice after a day manning the ovens, even if it were a sweltering, humid Indian Summer day. "What are you dying of?"

"Death," Peeta said ominously.

"Dying of death," said Barm. "That sounds serious. Any idea what caused it?"

"My shoes," Peeta said. "My legs don't like 'em."

"Why not?" Barm asked. "Let's take a look at those new shoes. Sit up."

Peeta sat up and stuck his foot on Barm's knee. "They're pinchy and they're sticked on my foots and I can't tie the laces."

"But look at how nice the leather is," Barm said, rapping on the sole of Peeta's shoe with his burned knuckles. "You can jump in a million puddles with these and your socks won't get wet."

"Yeah," Peeta said dubiously. "But I gotta put them on the right foot or they hurt a lot."

"Well, you know right and left," pointed out Barm. "Tell me how you know right and left."

Peeta frowned. "Forks go on the left. Spoons and knifes go on the right."

"Right," Barm agreed. "So just draw a little fork on the bottom of your left shoe."

"Okay," Peeta said dubiously. He narrowed his eyes. "But I still can't tie the laces."

"Well, that's a little tricky," admitted Barm. "But let's unknot that mess you've got going there and I'll show you how to do it right. It's not harder than making a pretzel, I promise."

"My pretzels are terrible," grumbled Peeta. He plonked his other foot down on Barm's knee and Barm set to disentangling the rats' nests of knots that Peeta had made in his shoelaces.

Finally, they were undone and Barm untied his own shoe. "Okay," he said. "Hold the laces in each hand."

Peeta held his laces.

"Now, follow what I'm doing with my hands, and see how it matches this poem, okay? It'll help you remember.

"_Under the fence,  
>Come outside<br>Close it tight so we can hide.  
>Over the hilltops<br>'Round the forest we go,  
>Here's my arrow<br>And here's my bow!_"

Peeta nodded approvingly. "That's a good poem!"

"Peeta, your fingers are tied together," sighed Barm. "You didn't listen."

"I was listening!" insisted Peeta. "I can't watch and listen at the same time; it's too much stuff. Let me try it by myself."

His fingers were clumsy, but he followed Barm's poem – he imagined the fence around the outskirts of District Twelve, where he'd been only once or twice with his father on deliveries to the Seam Healer's house. He'd only seen trees outside the fence, but anything could have been there. He imagined shouldering a bow and arrow like Magdalen, when she brought squirrels and rabbits and sometimes, even _turkeys_or grooslings to the Bakery doors early, early in the morning, and adventuring through the forest for things to hunt.

"I did it!" he crowed, sticking out his foot. "I made a bow!"

"Good!" encouraged Barm. "Now, so you don't have to do that over and over all day, just double knot it – " he twisted the bow on Peeta's shoe – "Like this."

Peeta beamed, looking down at his new shoes. "Thanks for helping me." He glomped onto Barm's shoulders. "Now stay here and listen and tell me if my shoes still clack good."

He bounced down the bakery steps and galloped up and down the street as the sun blazed into a red sunset, and the smell of tangy sourdough pretzels wafted from the Mellark Bakery doors. Peeta galloped along the square, past the Peacekeepers in uniform leaning on the lampposts, past Delly with her yellow curls peeping at him from the cobbler's window, past Cinna at his dressform in the corner of the tailor's shop, scalloping feathers onto the long, linen skirt of a white gown.

"Peeta!" called Barm, waving him back to the Bakery, "Come home and set the table!"

Peeta ran back and crashed into Barm's knees, almost knocking them over with the force of his hug. "How'd I sound?"

Barm grinned and rested his hand on the back of Peeta's head to lead him inside. "I think you sounded even louder, Peets."

* * *

><p><strong>aimmyarrowshigh<strong>: CRAP. Barm never says dammit  
><strong>aimmyarrowshigh<strong>: in this one  
><strong>aimmyarrowshigh<strong>: and i just uploaded it all  
><strong>aimmyarrowshigh<strong>: ffffffffffffffffffffffffffff  
><strong>everybodysbadintentions<strong>: you should say exactly that at the end  
><strong>everybodysbadintentions<strong>: except  
><strong>everybodysbadintentions<strong>: replace crap with  
><strong>everybodysbadintentions<strong>: dammit  
><strong>everybodysbadintentions<strong>: problem solved!  
><strong>aimmyarrowshigh<strong>: HAHAHAHAHA  
><strong>aimmyarrowshigh<strong>: I THINK I WILL.


	4. 004 Bathtime

**Author**: **aimmyarrowshigh**  
><strong>Illustrator<strong>:** everybodysbadintentions**  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: _The Hunger Games_, Suzanne Collins  
><strong>Story Title<strong>: "The Tiny Peeta Diaries; Or, Five Times Peeta Made People Say 'Dammit'!"  
><strong>Summary<strong>: _A series of events around District Twelve as seen through the eyes of five-year-old Peeta Mellark, the earnest and inquisitive son of the baker._  
><strong>Notes<strong>: A side-shot for _The Five Places Cinna Came From: District Twelve (The Girl with the Boy)_, but you do not NECESSARILY need to have read that to understand this. Although there is more bbPeeta being bb in it.  
><strong>CharacterRelationships**: Peeta, Madge, Haymitch, Mags  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG (for the word "dammit," obviously.)  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: None, really. I guess see the "rating," lol.  
><strong>Wordcount<strong>: 2,500/8,000  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own anything. All characters, settings, and proprietary language are owned by the author of the work from which this is derived. This is Part 1/5; we're AIMING to get one Part posted every night for the next five days.

* * *

><p><strong>! THIS IS ACTUALLY NOT THE COMPLETE VERSION OF THE TINY PEETA DIARIES! READ THE FULL, ILLUSTRATED VERSION AT http{colon} {slash (slash)} aimmyarrowshigh [dot] livejournal <strong><span>[dot]<span>** com {slash} 73247 **[dot]** html !**

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><p><strong><span>The Tiny Peeta Diaries; Or, Five Times Peeta Made People Say 'Dammit'!<span>**

**004. Bathtime**  
>"I want to – um," Peeta started before, stumbling over his shoelaces. He rubbed his nose and ran to catch up with his father's long stride. "Wait for me! I um – I want to carry this cake."<p>

"Sorry, Peeta," said Farll, "Not this time. Next time, bub."

"Why?" Peeta asked, trotting along beside his father.

"This is an important cake," Farll explained patiently. "I know you're careful, but we can't drop this one."

"I only dropped – " Peeta quickly counted in his head. "Four. But I only _was_four, and now I'm five, and I can carry the important cakes now."

Farll cracked a smile. "I know, bub. I know you can."

"Well." Peeta held out his arms expectantly. "It's not that important a cake, it's just goin' to stinky Madge's house." He wrinkled his nose.

"You like Madge," Farll reminded Peeta gently.

"I know, but she's a girl," Peeta whined, galloping a few steps for the enjoyment of the loud sound of his boots scuffing pavement. "All her stuff's all boring and she smells all bad 'n' like soap and stuff."

"That reminds me," Farll said dryly. "It's Sunday."

"No!" Peeta cried, stopping in his tracks. "No!"

"Yes," Farll said firmly. "After the Victory Tour dinner, you are going home and taking a bath."

Peeta's face crumpled and he stomped his feet, one-two, one-two. "This is the worst day ever! _Please_ let me carry the cake if you're gonna make me take a _bath_!"

"Oh, stop it, Peeta," Farll sighed. "We're almost there anyway. You need to be on your absolutely best behavior right now. The President is going to be at the party tonight and you _must_be good."

Peeta frowned. "I'm have to go play quietly with Madge upstairs, don't I."

"Yes," Farll agreed. "Very quietly."

Peeta looked down at his boots. "Why does the President hate kids so much?"

"_Peeta_," Farll hissed. "Don't say things like that."

"I didn't say nothing!" Peeta exclaimed shrilly. "I just asked a question!"

"Anything," corrected Farll, leveling the cakestand in his arms. "Peeta, he doesn't – we can't talk about that."

Peeta huffed spectacularly as he climbed the tall, steep steps of the mayoral house. "Will you tell me later?"

"Just go on upstairs and play nicely with Madge, okay?" Farll pleaded, sounding tired. "If I can, I'll save you a slice of cake."

Peeta stomped upstairs, passing a skeletal-thin man with white skin that hung like wax on his bones and huge, grotesque red lips.

"Worst day ever," Peeta grumbled. "I don't even like cimmanin cake that much."

When Peeta found Madge, she was sitting upside-down on her rocking chair, feet pointed to the ceiling and white-blonde hair falling towards the floor.

"What are you doing?" Peeta asked, plunking himself down on the rug to wrestle with his bootlaces.

"My mom said I have to try to see things from another perspective," Madge said primly, still upside-down. "'Cause I said I was mad at Daddy 'cause I'm sick of him bein' Mayor and the President all comin' here every year and making my mom sad."

"Oh," chirruped Peeta. "Does being upside-down help?"

"I don't know," Madge said thoughtfully. "But it makes my head feel funny. So maybe."

"I'm mad, too," Peeta said. "I wanted to carry the cake and my dad said I couldn't, and I don't think we're gonna get to eat any. But I can do important things now 'cause I'm five and he doesn't trust me to do good enough for the stupid President."

"He is stupid," grumbled Madge, tumbling feet-over-head onto the floor. "It's so boring when he comes here." She looked up at Peeta from where she stayed, sprawled on the floor. "What do you wanna play?"

Peeta shrugged. "Whatever. Not dolls again. Or house. Or Bakery. And my dad said I'm not allowed to play Careers And Tributes anymore."

"Good," Madge grumbled. "You hurted my arm last time."

"I know." Peeta looked abashed. "I'm sorry."

"Let's play Hide-and-Seek," Madge suggested. "Only… we'll both hide, and we're just be hiding at the party. And they can, um, not-seek us."

"Okay," Peeta agreed. "How do we hide down the stairs?"

Madge's blue eyes gleamed. "I know!" She jumped up and bounded over to the corner of her bedroom. "Help me move the dollhouse," she demanded.

Between Madge and Peeta, it took a good ten minutes to maneuver the large dollhouse down from the desktop without letting it crash to the floor and alerting the adults – and President Snow – to their presence. But when it had moved…

"There's a little door!" Peeta said, astonished. "Where does it go?"

"It's a secret tunnel," Madge whispered. "My mama showed it to me and showed it to me how to hide in it. It goes _anywhere_. She said that if things get too scary, I should go to Mr. Abernathy's house in it."

Peeta wrinkled his nose. "Mr. Abernathy? Why?"

Madge wrinkled her nose back. "That's what I said. He's mean and gross."

"Where does the passage go anywhere?" Peeta asked. Madge pushed open the door of the old dumbwaiter.

"Anywhere in the whole Panem," Madge said. "But it takes a long time to walk and I'm not supposed to. But sometimes," she whispered, pulling Peeta close to whisper in his ear, "Sometimes I hear voices in the wall."

"Is it scary?" Peeta asked. He only asked because he thought it was _very_scary, and he wasn't sure he wanted to go play hide-and-seek with mysterious foreign voices that hid inside walls, roving in secret beneath Panem.

"Not usually," Madge said. She shrugged. "But we're not goin' far, we're just gonna go downstairs. Then we can listen from the basement door, and no one can see us!"

Peeta's mouth twisted.

"Okay…" he wavered.

Madge grinned at him with her gappy little-girl teeth, grabbed his hand, and climbed up into the dumbwaiter, pulling Peeta behind her. She left the door in the wall open, but pulled the metal screen shut, closing them inside.

"Okay," she reported. "Now we pull this, and it makes us go down or up."

"Okay," Peeta whispered, reaching for the pulley.

Peeta and Madge pulled…

The dumbwaiter creaked…

And down they fell, faster and faster!

"Too much pulling!" Madge squeaked, covering her eyes.

Peeta covered his, too, and thought numbly that when they landed, he would be squished into Peeta Jam –

"Ho, there," shushed a surprised voice, and the dumbwaiter halted with a shudder. There was a chuckle. "What do we have here?"

Peeta peeked out from between his fingers.

They were downstairs alright; they had bypassed the first floor and the basement and were somewhere down deep, like the mine field trips at school, below the ground. Haymitch Abernathy held the dumbwaiter in a bear hug. Peeta glanced up and saw the rope had frayed, and wondered for a second if maybe he had just wet his pants.

"Well, we're gonna have to tell Marjorae to replace that rope," Haymitch mumbled. "And now we've got two little prisoners down here."

Peeta gulped and grabbed Madge's hand. He realized that he wasn't the one who had wet the dumbwaiter floor.

"If you hurt her, you're gonna have to – to go through me first!" he threatened in a quavering little voice, setting his jaw and staring up at Haymitch's bleary face.

Haymitch laughed and set the dumbwaiter down. "I'm not gonna hurt anybody," he said. "I don't hurt kids."

He unlocked the dumbwaiter's screen door and the two shaken five-year-olds tumbled out gratefully into District Twelve's black dirt.

"_Ugh_," Haymitch grumbled, rubbing his face. "You're _wet._"

"Don' embarrass 'em, Haymitch," creaked another voice from the dark corner. A dark shape unfolded and approached. "We got dry clothes down here, let's clean 'em up."

"Witch," Madge whimpered, grabbing onto Peeta and burying her face in his shoulder.

"Don't you come near us!" Peeta warned, holding onto Madge. "I'll kick you!"

"Oh, for cripes' sake," Haymitch grumbled, turning to the witch. "I say we just leave them here."

"Haymitch," chided the witch. She knelt to face Peeta on his level. "Do you recognize me better now?"

Peeta pursed his lips. "You're that old lady from District Four," he said uncertainly. "You sent that girl the big knife and she killed Auger with it."

"That's right," Mags said softly, sadly. "I'm sorry."

"That's your job," Peeta said, matter-of-fact.

"Do you still think I'm a witch?"

"No," Peeta admitted. "I'm sorry. You're wearing black capes."

Mags smiled with the good side of her face. "So I am. Now. Can we clean you two up? Do you want some dry clothes?"

Peeta looked down at Madge, who still clung to him, but nodded.

Once Peeta and Madge were swimming instead in huge flannel shirts taken from a lopsided dresser along the tunnel's edge, next to a deep larder of preserved vegetables and tins of strange meat that Mags called "pickled fish" when she opened one for the hungry kids – Madge didn't like it, but Peeta did – Peeta sat quietly and contentedly at Mags' feet as she and Haymitch talked quietly about things Peeta didn't listen to, or understand, and Mags' gnarled hands brushed dirt from Peeta's blond curls. Once his hair was clean, she started on Madge's hair and braided it intricately into looping coils of golden rope all around her little head.

"Why are you down here?" Peeta asked curiously, twisting his neck to look up at the adults. "Why aren't at the party?"

"It's not a party," Haymitch grumbled.

"Yes, it is," Peeta argued. "There's a cake'n everything. I helped make it and my dad said that maybe if there's some left I can have some later."

"A cake doesn't make it a party," Haymitch said, and Mags put a restraining hand on his arm.

Peeta frowned in consternation. _Of course_a cake made something a party. That was what bakers were for! Also bread for toasting, and rolls for eating, but cakes were always the most important.

"We just got tired of the party," Mags explained gently. "And I thought maybe I heard a little mouse scurrying in the walls!" She tickled Peeta- and Madge's ribs and they giggled. "Imagine my surprise when it was _two_little mice!"

"More like rats," Haymitch grunted, and Madge punched his knee.

"Don't you talk about me like that, Mister," she snapped. "I'll tell my mama on you."

Haymitch grumbled wordlessly.

"It sounds like the coast is clear," Mags said, tilting her head. "Let's get the little mice back upstairs to their parents."

She stood up slowly and Peeta trotted over to the table and picked up her walking stick. Its head was carved to be an intricately coiled conch shell.

"I like your wand," Peeta said appreciatively. "It's really pretty."

"Thank you, _mijo_," Mags said, taking the cane. "If you like it, then maybe I have a little presents for you two." She reached into the pocket of her flowing black tunic and pulled two small pieces of whittling.

"A boat for Peeta," she said, handing him the little wooden sailing ship, "And a mermaid for Madge."

"Thank you," said Madge, turning the doll over in her hands. She had strands of frayed, curling boat-rope for hair. "You forgot her legs, though."

Mags laughed, sounding surprisingly young. "Mermaids don't have legs, _mija_. They are magic creatures and live under the ocean, and they sing lovely songs."

"And kill people," snorted Haymitch.

Mags shot him a sharp look. "Or they lead boats to safety in the storms."

"What is a boat?" Peeta asked pensively, turning his over.

"It is freedom," Mags said dreamily. "A boat is what a person uses to travel on the ocean and see everything in the world and go on great adventures."

"_Ooh_," breathed Peeta, examining his little wooden boat. "And what's th'ocean?"

Mags laughed again. "Water," she said. "More water than you can imagine."

"Bigger than the well?" Madge asked.

"I once fell into the well," Peeta reported. "It was very big and they pulled me out with a bucket."

"Much bigger than the well," Mags agreed. "Bigger than the lake, bigger than District Twelve. Bigger than the whole of Panem all together."

"Wow," said Madge and Peeta, impressed.

Peeta was still thinking of the ocean, trying to imagine water that big – water full of mermaids and boats on adventures – when Haymitch delivered the filthy, dirt-covered and bruised little boy in hand-me-down flannels back to Farll after the Victory Tour train had pulled back out of the District Twelve station, Mags back aboard with her Victor.

"What in the criminy happened?" Farll asked, putting a protective hand over Peeta's damp hair.

"Seems your boy and the Undersee girl have a nose for trouble," Haymitch said simply. "And there was urine involved." He handed Farll the crumpled, damp packet of fabric that was Peeta's best little suit.

Farll sighed. "Thanks for watching him, I guess."

Haymitch grunted and turned towards the Victor's Village, shambling off towards home.

Farll looked down at his son. "Dammit, Peeta," he sighed, without any malice. "It's a good thing you're getting your bath tonight."

Peeta nodded. "Can I play with my boat in the bath?"

"I don't see why not," Farll said, shrugging. "What's a boat?"

"Freedom," Peeta answered, clacking his boots along beside his father on the dark sidewalk home.


	5. 005 School Time

**Author**: **aimmyarrowshigh**  
><strong>Illustrator<strong>:** everybodysbadintentions**  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: _The Hunger Games_, Suzanne Collins  
><strong>Story Title<strong>: "The Tiny Peeta Diaries; Or, Five Times Peeta Made People Say 'Dammit'!"  
><strong>Summary<strong>: _A series of events around District Twelve as seen through the eyes of five-year-old Peeta Mellark, the earnest and inquisitive son of the baker._  
><strong>Notes<strong>: A side-shot for _The Five Places Cinna Came From: District Twelve (The Girl with the Boy)_, but you do not NECESSARILY need to have read that to understand this. Although there is more bbPeeta being bb in it.  
><strong>CharacterRelationships**: Peeta, Madge, Haymitch, Mags  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG (for the word "dammit," obviously.)  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: None, really. I guess see the "rating," lol.  
><strong>Wordcount<strong>: 3,500/9,000  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own anything. All characters, settings, and proprietary language are owned by the author of the work from which this is derived. This is Part 5/5; we're AIMING to get one Part posted every night for the next five days.

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><p><strong>! THIS IS ACTUALLY NOT THE COMPLETE VERSION OF THE TINY PEETA DIARIES! READ THE FULL, ILLUSTRATED VERSION AT http{colon} {slash (slash)} aimmyarrowshigh [dot] livejournal <strong><span>[dot]<span>** com {slash} 73247 **[dot]** html !**

* * *

><p><strong><span>The Tiny Peeta Diaries; Or, Five Times Peeta Made People Say 'Dammit'!<span>**

**005. School Time**

Peeta mussed at his damp hair nervously. He had never been forced to take a bath during the week before, but his mother said that he had to be clean for school and _couldn't show up looking like a damned coal-monkey; now button your shirt up right_.

Now, freshly bathed and feeling just a little sweaty under his stiff school clothes due to the late Indian Summer heat wave scorching the District, Peeta sat on the bakery countertop, swinging his feet and letting his boots thud heavy against the cabinets.

He mussed his hair again.

He bit his nails.

"Nervous for school, Peets?" Lavash asked, glancing over to his little brother as he flew down the stairs in a rush.

Peeta's mouth twisted. "Yeah. A little." He paused. "I mean, I just don't know any Seam kids and I don't want them to be mean to me."

"They're not mean," Lavash said absently, picking a week-old blueberry muffin out of the larder and crossing to the sink to cut away some fuzzy pink mold. "Mom's just – she just doesn't like the Seam. But they mostly just keep to themselves."

"Oh," Peeta said, thunking his feet again.

Lavash paused with the muffin mostly in his mouth and looked at his little brother. Peeta looked so small and so sad with the faded remnants of his black eye still discoloring his face. Lavash checked over his shoulder, then ducked around to prep table.

He picked out a soft cornmeal cupcake studded with red raspberries and frosted with a swirl of creamy, vanilla-sweetened soft cheese and wrapped it in white paper. Then, still chewing, he smiled at Peeta, chucked his chin, and tucked the cupcake into Peeta's lunchpail.

"Don't tell Ma," he whispered. He patted Peeta's shoulder genially, and then flew out the door as he shrugged into his jacket. Peeta heard him yell, 'Wait up!' to someone down the sidewalk.

Well.

Maybe school wasn't so bad if he got a cupcake.

Peeta picked up his lunchpail and peered inside. Nobody had remembered to pack him anything else, and now he was stuck on the counter. He sighed and looked across to the breadbox and really, he ought to learn how to jump down if he was going to keep getting stuck in this predicament. Maybe Madge would lend him that rope.

Barm's loud, steady footsteps ka-thumped down the stairs. He whistled cheerfully, tossing an apple from hand to hand.

"Barm!" Peeta called. "Help!"

"You stuck _again_, Peeta?" Barm asked, coming over to lift him down. "You really gotta stop climbing until you learn how to come back down."

Peeta frowned. "Mom said that it keeps me outta the way." He tugged at the tail of Barm's shirt. "Barm? Nobody packed me no lunch."

"Nobody packed you any lunch?" Barm asked, correcting Peeta gently. "Well, let's get you settled. What do you want?"

"Jam sandwich?" Peeta asked hopefully.

Barm rolled his eyes. "Only because it's the first day of school. But you have to bring carrots _and_ nettles _and_ eat them all."

Peeta wrinkled his nose. "Can I put cheese on 'em?"

"Cheese or jam, Peeta," Barm said. "Can't have both."

"Jam," Peeta sighed.

Barm bustled around the kitchen, still whistling, as he prepared Peeta's sandwich, which he wrapped in wax paper, and a little tin of peeled carrots and bitter nettles. Then, he crossed to the prep table and selected a gooey groundnut-butter cupcake with a little dollop of strawberry jam in the center and a thick pink dollop of marshmallow frosting on top.

He held it out for Peeta to inspect.

"_If_ you eat your greens," he said sternly. Then he wrapped it in paper and tucked it into Peeta's lunch pail. "And don't tell Mom."

Peeta's blue eyes widened.

_Two_ cupcakes! He should probably tell Barm, since they weren't supposed to eat the pastries themselves, but… two cupcakes! Just for him! He'd never had two whole cupcakes before! School really wasn't so bad after all if it meant he got two cupcakes.

Peeta took the pail from Barm and peered inside in wonderment - jam and two cupcakes! Even if he did have to eat stinky nettles and carrots – before pulling at Barm's shirttails again. "You walking me to school?"

"Barm's got marzipan to mould," Farll answered. He stooped over the sink to wash his hands free of flour, then held one out for Peeta to take. "I'm going to walk with you today."

Peeta beamed up at his father and took his hand. The heavy lunch pail swung from Peeta's other fist, and his lucky wooden boat was bulky in his shirt pocket. "Okay!"

Farll and Peeta started off across the Quarter towards the schoolhouse. Peeta jumped the stairs like a frog, trying to skip every-other step, jostling his lunch around in the silver pail. He checked inside surreptitiously on the sidewalk to make sure that his cupcakes weren't squashed.

All around them, from all over the District, older children walked towards the schoolyard in knots of three or four: the boys laughing and shoving each other; the girls giggling and shoving the boys. The Merchant girls all wore pale new dresses with Cinder's trademark embroidery and lacework at the collars and cuffs and the Merchant boys all dressed like Peeta, in their best pressed pants and buttoned shirts. The Seam boys and girls were tall and rangy and their clothes older and careworn: Peeta saw one boy run past with bright red patches sewn onto the elbows of his jacket, and he liked that very much and wished he could have a red jacket, too.

"Are you excited for school, Peeta?" Farll asked, swinging their hands.

"I don't know," Peeta said honestly. "I'm not not-excited. But I'm not excited neither."

"You'll have all your friends there," Farll reminded him. "Madge and Delly and Tate. And you'll make new friends, too."

"What if nobody likes me?" Peeta asked quietly, squeezing his father's fingers.

Farll stopped and knelt down to Peeta's eye-level. "Why would anybody ever not like you, Peeta? Just be nice and be kind and people will like you just fine."

Peeta's mouth twisted. "I never met nobody from the Seam before. 'Cept Magdalen, and she's different."

"No, she isn't," Farll said. "Special, sure. But she's no different from anyone else from the Seam, because they're really no different from any of us who live out here. People are people."

Peeta bit his lip, considering. Then he nodded. "'Kay. I'm ready to keep going to school."

Farll smiled and patted Peeta's hair. "Before we do, I've got a surprise for you." Farll Mellark reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a_ chocolate_ cupcake with fluffy white icing and handed it to Peeta. "You can have this after you eat your lunch, since it's your first day of school."

Peeta's eyes were wide as serving platters. "Really? Chocolate? Are you sure?"

He had never had chocolate before, except the tiny tastes he'd sneaked off his fingers in little smudges when he and Barm worked on icing and moulding the fancy cakes for Mayor Undersee and the Peacekeepers' celebrations. It was too precious and too expensive to go to waste on Peeta.

Farll's blue eyes twinkled and he nodded. "Of course. We can always spare one chocolate cupcake on the Mellark boys' first days of school." Then he paused. "Although, don't tell your mother."

Peeta nodded, eyes shining, as he tucked the cupcake into his lunch pail beside the first two.

_Three cupcakes?_ That would be his secret _forever_ if it meant he got to keep them all!

Peeta galloped the rest of the way to the schoolyard, clacking his boots as loudly as he could against the gritty sidewalk and pulling on his father's arm. The schoolyard was a ruckus of children and parents milling about. Peeta waved to Madge, but Madge had her face buried in her mother's skirts, too shy around all of these new kids. Peeta saw Delly, too, but hid behind Farll's legs so she wouldn't drag him over to play already. Peeta wanted some adventure first. He wanted to meet new people.

But he didn't know where to start.

"How you doing, Peeta?" Farll asked, looking down at the little boy clinging to his leg.

Peeta shrugged. "I don't know who's nice."

"Hmm," Farll hummed. He surveyed the schoolyard and his eyes lit then dimmed, simmering with a low-burning, secretive, sad smile. Then he scooped Peeta up to sit on his hip and pointed subtly across the way. "You see that little girl?"

Peeta looked. She had two long black braids and a red plaid dress. A lovely, smiling blonde woman in a blue dress knelt beside her, holding a tiny fair-haired baby so that the little Seam girl could kiss its head adoringly. "Who is that?"

"I wanted to marry her mother," Farll murmured, more to himself than to Peeta as they watched Larkspur smile at her daughter's enamored care of the baby. "But she ran off with a coal miner."

Peeta's brow furrowed. "A coal miner?" He looked to the little blonde baby again. "Why did she want a coal miner when she coulda had you?"

Farl shrugged and Peeta giggled as he rose up with his father's shoulders. "Because when he sang, even the birds stopped to listen."

Larkspur Everdeen looked over then and rose gracefully, holding the tiny newborn baby close. She laid her other hand gently over her dark-haired daughter's head and led her over to the First Schooler line.

Farll shook his head as though clearing it of water and smiled and Peeta, tickling his ribs. "And you know me – I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket!"

Peeta laughed and squirmed. "Remember when I fell in the well? You carried me home in a bucket."

"That's right," agreed Farll, settling Peeta down again. "I think that very bucket is your lunch pail today!"

Peeta laughed. "I was never _this_ little."

"No, you weren't," agreed Farll, still looking absently towards the Everdeens ahead of them in line. "I'm just being silly."

Then he ruffled Peeta's hair. "It looks like the teachers are coming out to get everyone now. Are you okay to stand in line by yourself?"

Peeta nodded. "That's not hard."

"Okay," Farll said. He bent down to give Peeta a scratchy kiss on the top of his head. "Barm will wait for you right by the gate after school, and then you're going to Cinder's shop for your painting lessons. Don't leave without Barm, though."

"I know how to get to Cinna's house," Peeta insisted. "I can do it."

"Don't leave without Barm," Farll repeated. "Promise?"

Peeta sighed. "I promise, I guess."

"Okay," Farll said. "Have a great first day of school, bub."

Once Farll had turned the corner away from the schoolyard, Peeta dug into his lunch pail and took out the cornmeal cupcake. He ate it quickly and licked some cheese icing from his nose before Delly came bounding over and tackled him with a big hug. They stood together in line behind the Everdeens, watching as Tate, the undertaker's son, made a skinny Seam boy eat two rocks. The teachers came out of the building just as Tate was holding out a third, and he got a slap across the back of his hands with a ruler.

Peeta thought he deserved it. There was a reason he only played with girls, even if they were boring and stinky. At least they weren't bullies like Tate. Peeta never wanted to hurt people for fun.

The entire school crowded into the assembly hall – youngest to the back, oldest to the front, just like the Reaping ceremony – and Peeta dutifully tore the raspberry cupcake into thirds to share with Delly and Madge. He thunked his boots on the floor in a little rhythm, making up a song in his head, as some big girls in the front of the hall stood and taught everyone the words to the Pledge of Concession. Peeta, fairly bored now with his song, and with a dozy Delly leaning heavily on his shoulder, reached sneakily into his lunch pail and pulled out the final cupcake.

He wasn't sharing this one. Not with _anybody_. It was his one chance to try chocolate. He peeled back the paper and sucked crumbs from his finger: _delicious_.

Then the teachers at the front of the crowd asked if any of the new students knew the Anthem and would like to sing.

A few seats away, the dark-haired little Everdeen girl raised her hand and stood, proud, on her chair in her red plaid dress.

Peeta took a big bite of his chocolate cupcake.

And Katniss Everdeen began to sing.

Peeta looked up. His heart was bursting, warm and bubbling and bright and rich and smooth and for the first time in a long while, Peeta Mellark sat perfectly still and perfectly quiet, entranced by Katniss Everdeen's song. The light broke in the window overhead, shining over Katniss like a spotlight, and at the edges of the window, Peeta could see the dark shapes of the mockingjays sitting on the sill, their heads tilted, silent too as they listened.

_All the birds stopped to listen_, Peeta thought, moving in a trance.

_I am going to marry that girl._

Peeta spent the rest of the morning staring at Katniss Everdeen. She sat quietly by herself in the corner of the classroom, building with the blocks, and Peeta thought, _I should go play blocks._

But then Delly came over and dragged him over to play house, so he played house. He thought about how Katniss' mother seemed so nice to her, not like his own mother who hit him or Madge's mother who cried all day sometimes, and how Katniss' father could sing and how Katniss had a baby sister with pale yellow-blonde hair like his. He touched the almost-faded bruise at his eye self-consciously, and wondered what Katniss thought if she looked at him.

At lunch, Peeta sat between Delly and Madge again, eating his jam sandwich so deep in thought that he barely tasted it. He even ate the carrots and nettles without wincing.

Katniss Everdeen sat by herself again at the end of the lunch table, eating her grayish soup out of a thermos.

Peeta had an idea.

The chocolate cupcake! He'd only eaten one bite; he could break it in half and give it to Katniss, and then maybe she would love him even though he couldn't sing. And then he could tell his father that he was going to marry the coal miner's daughter, and that he'd seen all the birds stop to listen. And he knew that everyone would be happy.

Peeta's little heart fluttered as he reached into his lunch pail –

Nothing.

It was empty.

Just a crumpled cupcake wrapper.

Oh, no! He must have eaten it while Katniss was singing, and he hadn't even realized.

Peeta stared into the empty lunch pail, a frown creasing his little cherubic features.

He looked up in time to see Katniss clamber off the bench with her thermos and head, alone, back into the schoolhouse with her thermos.

Peeta wrinkled his nose. He lifted the cupcake wrapper and scraped some of the chocolate residue off with his teeth.

"Dammit."


End file.
